Adulthood
by KKSunny
Summary: The trail to adulthood is difficult, and only England may ease the struggle. Britcest. Dangerous fluff. Shounen-ai/Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

Excuse the piss-poor summary before you clicked this story as it is meant to be eye-catching and all. However, and as you can probably already tell: I'm terrible at them. In any case, the story will make up for everything, I promise.

*Note that I made Sealand slightly older in this story. He's originally 12 years old in the anime, but I bumped his age up to about 15 or so.

Pairing: England x Sealand (UKSL)

Genre: mid-core shonen-ai /Yaoi

POV: Sealand, first-person

Disclaimer: I do not own anything here except for the plot.

Slight warning: Explicit British swears, watch out.

Have fun reading.

* * *

><p>He's drunk again like when he tried tricking America into drinking himself silly. It didn't work and it isn't working currently.<p>

We sat together side-by-side with our knees chafing against the wall below the red oak counter holding our half-empty drinks. The gentleman slumped over my shoulder, moaning loudly about his personal issues as his fingers trailed clumsily over the ridges on his glass filled with his favorite drink waiting to be finished. My hands awkwardly tapped my cup full of a liquid that wasn't even decided upon by me: it was this shitfaced English barmpot that treated me to a beverage I am not meant to enjoy at my age. Sheepishly however, I complied and the bartender has yet to caw my arse out of his pub. I like to think that he saw me as an older gent like Britain over here – all pissed out using the worst parts of the English language. To me, it sounded more like his national anthem in drunken slurs and cracks. Shyly, I took another sip from my glass while avoiding a disturbance upon England.

Unfortunately, he reacted anyway by lifting his cumbersome head away from my shoulder and immediately wondering what time it was. I murmur the hour and he gawked at me critically as if I told him the world was round instead of flat. He pressed his throat for words, only to simply give up the matter, draining the remaining contents, slamming the butt of his cup onto the counter and screaming for another serving. Right then, I wanted to be the hero and impede his next drink's arrival – he is the one meant to be driving us back home, so why not speak up? Although this may be true to a fault since Britain's already sloshed out of hell into the next life. But I know he hates the aftermath. I always wondered why he goes out for a drink, aware of the consequences, yet he says it will only be two or three cups. Instead, he gets full of himself, competing against no one until he's…well, this. A man not able to tackle the hardships of alcohol by a single shot of vodka while aware of the overbearing hangovers is a man of courage and bravery. With this example, I'm a little afraid myself if I can manage the rest of my cup which I hardly drew my lips to. It was far too bitter against my tongue.

I noticed Britain downing the other half of his drink, tipping his head back and disapproving of his motions. When he returned his dejected slouch over the counter, his soulless green eyes snaked back at me, staring like a portrait. His lips curled in for a second until he finally opened his mouth, flaring his crooked teeth

"S-S-Sealand," He heinously addressed me as if I was all-important, yet in drunken slurs, ruining the proper mood "Yo-o-ou have… _reall_-ay goht to finish t-that… _scrump_tious dr-r-ink: it's-s good for you."

I stared through him at that point. Why should I listen to a man who is not aware of his own surroundings or even himself? I politely shook my head with the smallest smile I could hold. Behind my lips, I felt disgusting. Britain frowned at my response.

"Y-You're a growing lad, Sealand," Surprisingly, his words were clear while the gent leaned closer toward me, a serious tone crossing his sloppy features. "Finishing a g-…good hardy drink means you've grown to that of a man."

My polite smiles reoccur as I nod my head like agreeing on nothing more than the weather. Somehow, Britain caught onto this. He pointed the tip of his middle finger at me.

"Oi you plonk-ar: d-d…don't act like eets not impo-or-ant. You're a m-man auft-ah all. Live like a king."

The useless piss-artist took the cup between my twiddling fingers and shifted it toward my face, and almost smacking it into my nose. Quickly on a safe thought, I grabbed the glass away as if I'd saved my life, not wanting to take the implied offer. The Brit simply smiled shoddily and harshly clapped his hand onto my back, my face lunging into the counter. I lifted my head immediately, holding my nose, but England went crazy.

"Oh _Gordon Bennett_ what have I _done_? _Do_ tell me you're alright, Sealand." I hastily fanned him off politely as soon as his fingers grazed my white shirt.

"Please, don't bother with me." With discretion, I said quietly and went to stand up, tired of this nonsense. As I was about to take my leave, however, something yanked at my shirt and I stumbled backwards, crashing into the stool I had made warm. As soon as I reabsorbed my surroundings, immediately I noticed Britain's poignant stench of alcohol and an odd mix of tea. Stronger than usual, I realized just how close I was to my potential death.

"Wh-air do you think yo-r going, young man?" I could almost hear his critical frown as I carefully nudged my chin up to see Britain's stern yet forlorn face staring right back at me. Honestly, I was a little intimidated at the view.

"We're meant to be-y celebr-ait-ang yo-r manhood. Don't just scurry off."

"I want to go home." I stated firmly, clear and decisive. I didn't care to watch a not-so English gentleman grow deeper into a pit of sober failure.

"I won't let you wiff that attitude."

"You're not my brother to any further extent," I explained while slipping off the Brit's lap (or at least it felt like his lap after I realized the seat was too warm to be the stool) to make my leave, tired of all of this. "You can't rule me anymore than you can America."

"Well I con aund I will, you little anklebite-ar." Next thing I knew my forearms were pinned to the counter within a tight grip. I wince at the sudden shock and fearfully glance up at Britain's now dominating aura; quickly predicting the worst possible scenario out of this.

"Iggy that hurts." I pouted the only thing I could possibly think of. I didn't even want to complain: I just wanted to take control of the situation and leave this foul air.

"Nothang's gunna change my mind abou—"

"Get off the lad, why doncha?" The bartender cut in whilst cleaning out a tall glass cup with a stained white cloth. "This is a bar: not a boxing ring for useless drunks."

"Piss off," Britain snapped, keeping his grip on my arms, leaving the skin a deadly white.

"Do I have to throw you out?" For some reason, Britain immediately complied: he released me from confinement and stood back, seemingly realizing his mistake. I quickly picked myself up, thanked the bartender who only nodded in return, and scurried myself out of there, taking no heed to the surrounding men barricading the way to the door littered in posters facing outward through the window.

As soon as the bitter cold nipped my nose and my booted feet stomped into the messy snow, my backside jumped by a surprise bear hug enough to kill a small animal.

"Oi Little Britain, don't run away from yor su-pear-rior. I'm drivin' you bock home, rememb-ar?" England's familiar slur-filled voice struck at my ears by lips too close for comfort.

"I'd prefer to walk home if you're going to be in this condition." I said soft-spoken and displeased, a grimace forming my lips as I tried to break free from a suffocating embrace.

"Then what would happen to my car?" It wasn't a serious question – or at least he made it sound foolish. I furrowed my brows in annoyance.

"Go fetch it in the morning for all I care: I just want to get back home no matter how I return." I piped as I began dragging my feet along the icy ground, edging my way toward home, trying to ignore the man across my shoulders the best I could. "I just don't want to die today: so there is absolutely no chance of me climbing into that vehicle with the likes of you."

"But I don't want it to get cold…" Britain moaned as his feet shuffled closely behind mine. How irritating…

"'Tis already cold, you git: hasn't the snow given you any clue as to the temperature?"

"Don't address me wiff thaut t-tone, you wank-ar. D-Don't disrespect your elders-s."

"As if you hadn't been disrespecting me this entire evening? I think it only fair."

"I've got to teach you kids somehow."

I relented from replying any further to this slob, still longing to see the morning sun. He is meant to be a kind gentleman with high morals and strict manners, yet he goes completely off the trolley when a few drinks are passed his way. He may only be a true role model when he's completely sober, it would seem… I have to admit that I enjoy his company more when he has avoided a drink.

The sidewalk paved in a blanket of white crunched beneath our boots as the piss-artist and I made our way down it, hoping to see home again soon. Finally, Britain had released me, allowing me to breathe comfortably once again; walking directly beside me as my eyes watched the passing buildings. The empty streets echoed silence until the soft stomping of the minority of pedestrians walked along the streets, searching for shelter from a grey-filled sky. It would have been considered half-peaceful if Britain were to cut himself short of his little tune. "God Save the Queen" was his choice once more. I could hardly bear it any further as he turned several notes sour or even slipped on a certain verse. I wanted to make him stop, but I knew in the end what might happen – we've been through this before.

…

It felt as if hours passed until the two of us finally clambered through Britain's front door, shivering violently from the bitter cold and exhausted from the long walk. Or at least I was: Britain, on the other hand, looked as if he was the one to welcome me back home from a day's travel. Once he shut the door, I shot off my shoes and coat and immediately bolted up the stairs to my old room, not wanting to be around a man who has the potential of killing me in his pissed state. Behind me I immediately heard him shouting out my name is if I had gone missing. Not desiring to be chased and captured, I leapt into my bedroom and slammed the door, easing my back against the safeties of the other side within its protection.

It did not take long before clumsy footsteps waltzed up the wooden stairwell and ended at my door, the man's fists ramping against it without hesitation. I bit my lip hard, desperately wanting the beast to leave.

"Sealand, open this door, I say." His muffled words demanded through the thin door. He couldn't possibly be serious. Why must he have the need to further meet with my presence? My blood spiked when I heard the knob rattle close to my ear. I didn't want to be this close, not even through a door. With that fearful thought, I slid up the side of the door until I was on my feet, tentative now about my choice. To hide within the comforts of my own sheets, or to endure a sleepless night on the cold floor with a drunken madman roaring behind me through a wall. With a quick selfish thought, I jumped for my little bed and bundled into its sheets, covering myself from head to toe. How comforting the softness of this mattress combined with the familiar warm scent of tea weaving through the fabrics felt.

But the door still rattled with Britain's voice booming through the cracks. He kept yelling the same thing over and over. Every word pierced into my ears until I covered them, pounding them with sheets to mute the torturous clamours.

Suddenly, it was almost as if the night had become peaceful, like it had meant to be. Yet, I couldn't find complete comfort in this; still aware of the death sentence I will have to take part in since I'm the only soul invited. My eyes squeezed painfully shut. I don't want the last thing I see to be my own blood.

My heart stopped when I felt the cool air of my room embrace me and my ears ringing at the sudden sounds of everything all at once. I didn't want to, but my eyes snapped open until I saw a brown necktie heading straight for me. It gently smacked onto my nose and immediately I was aware of everything.

The white sheets pooled across my mattress, enclosing us together like some planned sculpture. The air wafted around us, cold and unforgiving.

"P-Please, Britain," I pleaded, imminent to cry as the Englishman crawled atop of me, pinning my back to the mattress with his hands clawing into my wrists. "I'm sorry!"

"Shuddup, you wank-ar." He said in a stern, yet sloppy voice as he leaned further over me, his tie tickling my face. "You've been naughty all evening. You deserve some sort of punishment."

"No, Britain, please!" I shook my head tempestuously "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to."

"And now you've taken up lying. Has everything I taught you gone in one ear and out the other? How dreadful."

"I'm truly very sorry Britain!" I beseeched, hot tears streaming across my face. "It won't happen again! I'm sorry! Please let me go."

"You're so rude, Sealand. Can't even open up the door for me: welcome every guest that arrives at your door and pretend to smile thoughtfully." The Englishman slouched over me with a face pretending to be sober as he leaned down, thinning the space between us. I backed up fearfully into more of the mattress; the only thing I wished for now was to see the next rising sun. My face tightened with displeasure as England's necktie folded over my collar.

"And don't think I haven't been paying attention," the Brit stated dangerously, pure darkness flooding his eyes. "You like me, don't you?"

My tears stopped flowing. What did he just say? _Like..?_ Hesitantly, I nodded my head, not entirely aware of what I was answering.

"I-I…a-admire you: Yes, sir." I curled my lips in and waited for whatever painful response England had brewing.

"How much?"

"Uh…Auh…A lot, sir. Y-You're my role model, sir." Britain edged even closer, brushing his lower half into my buckling legs. What kind of punishment was this…?

"You bloody git," The man snapped softly with half lidded eyes. "I meant it in a manner of admiration; affection, if you will."

Finally, our eyes met at his response and I almost regretted doing so. I saw England's face, stoic and almost irked, frowning deeply with an unforgiving furrow between his fluffy brows. I wanted to slip out of his grip and leave this thick atmosphere. This was just too much for me to handle.

"Now, do I have to ask again?" I drastically shook my head.

"No, no, I-" My words choked within my throat. This pressure was too great. What did Britain want? A confession? I don't understand…

"Well, if you have no desire to speak yet, I guess I'll go first," The man sighed while softening his grip on my pale wrists, about to release one of them – or so it felt. He continued to stare at me with darkened eyes, never lessening his mood.

"I…I l-love you." Three simple words and yet I could not believe them. I stared at him with a bewildered look, ignoring now our awkward position.

"And it's not something equivalent to that of a brother's love," He added, nodding his head as if he understood himself. "I feel it deeper than that. I truly love you like crumpets to tea."

I politely shook my head at this; worried that England's confession was not proper. He is drunk, he cannot think like an abstemious gent. These could be messy words that don't compensate his true feelings. I really wish he were sober…

I swallowed something thick as I realized Britain was impatiently waiting for me to share my turn. I bit into my inner cheek, knowing that whatever I say won't apply to his irrational mind. In that case, however, I could say whatever it is I wanted and I could easily get away with it. But does alcohol really erase his memory like I imagine it to? What if it doesn't and England brings up my current words in the future at some point and makes me feel terrible about them? I suppose at that circumstance, I should only feel the need to spell out the truth and my honest feelings. But it's just too embarrassing to admit!

"I-Iai…I" I choked. My blue eyes squeezed shut, added with a displeased, pouting frown. "I-Ai…"

Suddenly, something pliable and soft gently took my lips. When my eyes shocked open, Britain's shut lids were the only things I could see. His usually irked brows covering his forehead eased, yet still seemed unsettled as he pulled away, allowing only centimeters to flow between us.

I stared at him in utter astonishment. What…? I can't even concede what just happened.

"Do you return the emotion, Sealand?" England's words were soft but his rank alcoholic breath pressed against my retracting nose. I wanted to take him seriously, but his foul mouth made me think otherwise. Instead of a worded reply, I simply nodded my head truthfully, not as tempted to leave from beneath England's towering figure as I had used to. What a weird feeling this was… So new.

The last thing I saw after my unarticulated confession was Britain's approving smile before he connected his mouth onto mine once more. His lips may have been sloppy but somehow I knew they told the sober truth behind the awful stench of alcohol.

My lips refused to open even as the eager ones of England jumped all over mine. I didn't know what to do. I did not want to taste more alcohol than I had already tonight: one sip was forbidden enough as it was. Somehow, I just could not find myself to open up properly. This is Britain we're talking about here and yet I can't help but feel put off.

My mind ripped out of my thoughts the instant I felt my wrists release. Was this relief I felt or was it something else? Everything turned sour as I felt my legs jerk apart. As if the air had knocked right out of me, I snapped my attention to the Brit whom lifted his hands away from my knees, about to take them somewhere I do not think I want them to go.

"I-Iggy, w-w-what-?" I squeezed my legs together, pulling them up to my stomach, hugging them as tears renewed against my cheeks. What on earth was this man doing?

"Relax, Sealand, relax…" England cooed with a crooked smile that was neither sincere nor mad. He gently crawled back up to me, placing his hands on mine and the top of my head.

"I'm sorry: I guess I am going a little too fast." He pressed a kiss to my forehead and finally made his departure. As soon as the gentleman stepped away from the bed, I didn't know whether to feel a sudden burst of loneliness or gratitude. In a quick thought, I simply curled into a ball and fell over toward my pillow, watching the man stand over me, looking intently at me in return.

Behind my flesh, I felt disgusting. Yet in some odd way, I felt okay. My mind churned with new emotions I never knew existed. Violated and scared shitless, completely relaxed and accepting of another man's embrace…

Do I have feelings for a man who was once my elder brother? I can't find myself to answer that…

At least now, as the gentleman slipped the sheets over my quivering body, I felt relieved that I could see the next sunrise.

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><p>Thank you for reading. c: Reviews are love.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

White light pierced my eyes. My lids squeezed tightly together, hate blooming within me.

I truly hate the sun. Why must it mock me so? I didn't even drink that much last night…

Oh yeah. Last night. England.

I sat up within my bed, sheets flooding around me like an ocean and I'm about to drown. I'm not going to drown. My feet escaped the waves of sheets and before I knew it, I found myself standing on cold wood flooring. It almost stung as I leapt to safety onto the nearest rug.

I wonder how Iggy is doing.

My clothes from the other day still clung to my body, a filthy mess curtaining me. The dirt remained within the stitches, within the memories. They all slipped off me, leaving me almost frigid as I searched for replacements. Why hasn't the heater been turned on this morning? Is England alright in this temperature?

I quickly picked out my uniform, yanking it on, finishing with short white socks while hopping toward the exit. I worry if he has a splitting headache.

As soon as my fingers touched the golden knob, I hesitated to open the door. I couldn't quite pin words to my emotion, but I perhaps felt dejected or put-off somehow. Last night…

Did he mean those words?

The hallway was long, elegant and cool as usual. A nice complementary crimson rug raced along the entire wooden flooring, following unique tripod tables holding a single black telephone, glistening in the light across the hall where a tall window stood. Bowls of light uniformly clung to each wall parallel to each other below the crown molding. Quaint, homey sort of feeling always swept through my mind whenever I pass this area. Too bad I may forget to admire it on some days, but I redeem myself upon every visit. Perhaps something as richly as this might inherit into my home one day…

Home… I should really check up on that Brit. I hope he's doing well. However, I doubt my own wishes.

Silence was the only thing to be heard behind Britain's door as I approached. Almost afraid whether he was dead or missing, I hesitated to knock, apprehensive about the worst. Slowly, I brought up my hand, gently pressing my knuckles into the beautifully crafted wood door. Perhaps articulation might be a better choice?

I quietly knock four times

"Iggy…?" I whispered through the door, aware that the thickness might obscure my voice too irregularly to be heard. "A-Are you in there?"

Silence. A long silence.

…Until I heard a painstakingly long groan.

"Shut off the bloody sun..!" England's definitely home.

"Are you decent?" I asked precautious, practically leaning against the door as if it were my crutch.

"…Yes, yes. But do be quiet. Your voice is much too loud."

With doubt and the over-powering need to satisfy the Brit in his time of weakness, I turned the knob as slowly and carefully as I possibly could, taking everything as literal so as not to make a horrendous mistake.

I tiptoed my way into Britain's room as soon as I made enough space between the frame and edge of the door. Another groan sounded off as light from the hallway pierced into the Brit's laying figure, cocooned into a huge mass of sheets. I quickly and quietly as I could shut the door, not wishing to disturb him any further.

"Iggy, do you—"

"Hush, hush!" The man hissed, pulling the sheets over his eyes.

"Sorry," I whispered as delicately as I could.

"What is it you want, dear boy?" He asked through the fabric, clawing his fingernails into it.

"Um…D-Do you desire for anything, sir? A fancy for this morning?"

"A cup of tea would be nice…"

"No water, sir? That would help sooth your head…"

"A cuppa tea, Sealand. Make it quiet."

I obediently nodded my head, already making my ever-quiet way out of the dark room into the hallway. Even out here, I sneaked off, tiptoeing down the stairs and diving into the kitchen, restlessly searching for England's favorite blend. All this in complete silence.

…

England always appeared just a little more buoyant while sipping on tea. He usually holds a serious, stern expression, stoic until pleased by something – anything. When given a drink, however, his expressions go wild. I remember thinking that lovely to see besides the basics: yet, when I did see the outcome of this turn over for the first time, I almost regretted it. Now I see it, it does not bother me as much. Alcohol just makes him like that. It is not anything special. I just hope I will not turn out like that…

The tiny clattering sound of England's teacup distracted me out of my thoughts.

"I've taught you well on how to brew the proper tea, Sealand." The man said with a bemused smile as his eyes stared mindlessly into his cup placed on the tea table. Somehow, he seemed reasonably different from before…Not as vexed from his headache.

Another bout of silence. I don't blame him.

_Does he truly love me?_

In the little armchair across from Britain, I sat with a straight back, gently tossing my legs forward and backward, glancing against the cool metal fixtures decorating the rim of the seat. The gold truly complimented the red cushioning…

"Sealand," England addressed after savouring another sip from his beautifully crafted cup. I glanced up at him, preventing my legs from moving any further as if I had been too loud before.

"I have many regrets," His words passed his lips slowly, as if truly pained. I stared at him curiously.

"I have no way of redeeming myself for several of them," Britain took another sip. There was a feeling wafting through the air that gave me an impression that England probably didn't care to speak of this subject he was approaching. Would he stop when he gets there or…?

"As of my recent regrets, however, I see a light; a glimmer of hope…"

"What...What are you trying to say, Iggy?"

"Give me patience," He lightly scolded me, refraining from eye contact. He took in a sigh. "The other day…I had had regrets."

He allowed his fingertips to play with the many rims of his teacup before he took another sip.

"I hate having to recite them and to even recollect them now, but I can't just let go of something so important. 'Tis just not that simple."

It was obvious: he was stalling. Come on, Britain. Get to the point. I honestly wished to cry that aloud, but I knew better than that. So I decided on the best decision: I waited, delicately tapping my toe onto the rug floor.

Another sip. Another sigh.

"Last night…"

Another pause.

_Last night…? Go on._

"I uttered many things that I know I shouldn't have uttered." Finally, England took his bothered gaze and pointed it at me. His green pools were so dark and yet thriving with a passionate emotion I have yet to figure out myself.

"You recall, of course - correct?" I didn't want to lie to him. I knew better than that. I'm a gentleman after all. I nodded my head. His lips could only frown deeper. He returned his eyes back onto his cup, perhaps embarrassed or slightly agitated…

"That…"

He took a pause to stare at his half-empty teacup. Say it, you damn Brit.

"That; I am ever sorry." My head nodded, almost involuntarily. But it was an agreed movement with my body and mind. England nodded in return as if agreeing with himself.

"I…I only wishe—"

"England…" I interjected, watching Britain's thick brow twitch at the interruption. It was never a gentlemanly thing to do, I know. "Did…D-Did you mean it? Did you mean what you said? Is that why you regret?"

Another pause. I seemed to have shot the target. England took his final sip of tea, appearing more relaxed than before as he placed the item back down, returning it to its saucer. No more excuses. Another sigh.

"That, I can't even be honest with myself whether it was true or not." England shook his head. "I mean, you… You're young but growing. Growing into a man… I'm proud, of course."

His eyes begged for a distraction as they searched the tea table in front of his knees. After another moment, he brought his hand to his mouth and looked off onto the floor. Silently, I begged him to continue, edging on my seat until I almost hung off the side.

"Sealand…" His green eyes blared with intensity for a moment as he brought them to stare into my pale blue spheres. He seemed so utterly serious… "I meant those things. Although I was drunk, I truly meant them. As I've said, I regret it however, because I had not been sober and you have yet to reach that proper age."

I took a moment to absorb all that in. For a small instant, my eyes drifted to England's shoulder clad in a pale green, sleeveless jumper. When I set my thoughts into words, I returned to green eyes and replied

"If those words were true to your heart, then why must you feel the need to regret?"

England could only shake his head at my words. He seemed to be biting his tongue a little too hard.

"Perhaps…" He pressed desperately for the words to escape his throat. He truly wanted to say them. "Perhaps my words are not what I've been repressed over."

Another pause and we simply stared at each other, exchanging anguished countenance.

"But 'twas my…my actions…"

_Oh._ Damn my naivety.

"A-Again, you are young – too young…"

"Britain," The man immediately stopped, analyzing my face as he waited for my furtherance. "I _have_ grown. You sound almost as if you think too little of me. I am not what I once was."

"You misunderstand," He reputed with disgust over himself "I do see you as a growing lad, I truly do. However…I guess I am simply acting like I remain your elder brother. I am…sorry for making you feel such things."

"Quit apologizing," I stated bluntly, almost like a hot knife through butter. "If we mutually understand our troubles and that's all gone and left behind, then there is only one thing remaining: now. We must make up for what we've lost."

England took a moment of rest to think that over, nodding slightly at the tea table surface. Soon enough, tiny giggles filled the air, rippling the serious mood from the room. A smile couldn't help but sort of crack upon my lips, though I honestly couldn't understand why.

"I feel like I've only just met you again…" The Brit's smile grew long and weak the more words passed his lips "I guess I was ignorant to realize your spurt of growth. You've changed, Sealand."

I nodded in reply, feeling slightly dejected from our conversation. I was just glad he has accepted me as I am. He should have no more regrets. His words were sober this time. He should be happy…

…

He made it sound as if he meant it. Come morning, he had lost his drunken slurs and replaced them with the given pain of both headache and raw emotion. After tea and a conversation as time may give, he began to relax into a seed of content. If only that feeling could sprout and bloom. But in doing so, there needs to be an added variable in which is missing.

The white ceiling, glittering with shadows of leaves stood before my nose, unmoving and waiting for nothing. By the sun's light shining through the tall beige curtains, the room surrounding me appeared almost yellow. Last night it had been dark grey.

Did he mean those actions?

The window was open, letting in a cool breeze from the icy atmosphere outside. Why must it be open? It was too warm in here: a different warmth from the night before.

_His lips, laden with alcohol, feverishly pressed into my own relenting pair, trickling my nerves in a conglomeration of dangerous heat and foreign passion…_

Wafting air vaguely moved about the room, engulfing me into revolting stillness. Drying eyes and paling skin, racing thoughts and giddy limbs, I couldn't bear it any further. Sitting up, I jumped out of bed in socked feet, preparing myself for the exit.

_His tongue slimed across my stubborn lips, his hands skittering upon my knees, ripping them apart…_

My feet walked gently across the carpeted floor, leading me to my favorite door.

He regretted his actions, but he meant his words. If he can admit to the guilt behind his drunken utterances, then surely he should be able to admit to the guilt of his actions. He knows they weren't quite good motives, but to dismiss them is a wrong-doing in one's karma.

Four knocks. The door opens. I see him, on his bed, sitting upright, book in hand. He had not actually been reading. I shut the door as soon as I enter, smiling something sheepish.

"'Tis noon, sir… W-Would you care for some tea as per usual?" The man politely shook his head and smiled weakly, patting the spot on the mattress beside him.

"Tea can wait, Sealand. I...We must talk." I nodded my head obediently, ending with a cresting neck as I approached the Englishman, turning round and taking my seat, already twiddling with my thumbs. I've never felt so nervous around England before in my life… This atmosphere… Why did I get out of bed?

"Sealand…" Upon my cheek, I felt his calloused fingers gently brush away my yellow bangs. Temptation overtook me but my control stopped me. I didn't look at him. He didn't deserve it yet.

"I remember it all too vividly…" England's words seeped out of him like sap on a tree "I…Guilt has truly made me wish your mind could forget about the events of last evening. Alas though, I cannot rewrite your memories."

My thumbs continued circling round each other, drawing out the figure eight in an almost infinite loop. They stopped as soon as my cap slid off the top of my crown. Only then did I look over in England's direction, avoiding his face and staring simply at the crook of his elbow, watching it return to his side as I returned my gaze.

"And by previous quotation, making new memories will make up for the bad ones."

His stare pierced my flesh. My eyes only followed the rough curve of Britain's legs firmly reaching the floor. This wasn't the atmosphere I came in here for.

"Sealand," The man's hand slid onto the crest of my nape, enticing my skin to relax and warm. "I truly love you; and that is my sober voice."

A slender smile reached my lips. My question finally answered properly. No headache standing between us, nor the sloshed persona…

With the light clap of book against table, my thoughts depleted as I glanced over, watching Britain return to my side and hold my flesh. He brought his fingers, slithering over my jaw, softly pressing the pad of his thumb against my bottom lip. I could not help but stare back at him, seeing his face ease of his worry.

"May I…?"

I felt I couldn't nod or shake my head. I wanted to, but... I didn't want to break this stillness. Instead, I simply watched him, a smile gradually lighting up his face. Zooming in toward me, his breath warm and filled with the pure scent of herbal tea, his skin eliciting with forbidden heat, he glanced over my top lip with a curved mouth. Crimson involuntarily filled my cheeks as Britain pulled away, just centimeters between his nose and mine. He allowed his eyes to analyze my face, continuing his smile as he noticed my façade. A chuckle passed his throat.

"I'm guessing that is a yes?" He whispered as his thumb slid away as my cheeks only grew a deeper shade of red. Once more, his mouth returned over mine, stealing another kiss, more passionate than the last. Pressing deeply, spreading me apart, now open to the matter, my body filling with acceptance as my back merged onto the bed, gaining assistance by England's hands touching me all over, pulling me into his further embrace. Melting me of my anxieties and inquiries as my eyes fell shut, welcoming the new feelings, physical and mental.

A hand leisurely ran through my fair locks, promoting us further together, tilting my head into the perfect position. Gently and hesitantly, the man's fingers raced along what bare skin I had showing, softly coaxing underneath the fabrics. Calloused but compassionate, they slid up, fully joining me beneath the thin white barrier, teasing my flesh and caressing sensitivities.

The momentum of feeling dithered as my own throat let out a small noise, a whimper, perhaps. Only then did England deepen his movements and lusts, beginning a new sense, driving my body into its temptations. Everything seemed much lighter than before. A kiss, a pinch, a loving tickle. His tongue gliding over my top lip, sliding between my teeth, playing with my own. His hands, quietly lifting up the fabrics, continuing their frolic along pale skin. Every one of his movements, slow and enticing, clever and loving. It was far from last night's movements. Much less harsh and demanding.

Another moan. England slipped off my shirt, immediately placing his hot mouth upon the crook of my neck, almost hungrily biting into my skin. Would this get out of hand? A heated sigh escaped my lips, making the decision for me until England slowed to a stop, only allowing his thumb to stroke my pink bud.

"Are you alright?" His lips tickled my shoulder as he whispered, his breath trickling across my skin, blurring out my senses. In weary eyes, I simply nodded, enjoying every bit of contact and that slight desire for more. Never has this feeling dawned on me like this before.

Across my shoulder, to my neck, up to my ear, Britain's tongue trailed over the flesh, breath hot across my skin.

"I will not be going all the way…" He sunk his teeth gently into the curve of my ear, evoking another small moan to escape me. In sudden need, though, my arms wrapped round his neck, keeping the man in place.

"Is it 'cause I have yet to reach that 'proper age'?" I whispered back a tease, mind still hazy, eyes still relaxed, body still content. Britain smirked in return.

"Don't be so cheeky."

A light chuckle emitted from the both of us until my fingers guided England into our last kiss, soft and uplifting, tasting his light scent, indulging in my moment of control.

"I love you, too."

No more regrets. No more distractions. No more waiting or stalling. We finally put the pieces together and fixed everything; fully accepting each other, our embraces, our affection, and my step closer to growing into my title.


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a little thought for myself here: I finally came to terms with the fact that this pairing is incest. At first, when I paired England and Sealand together, I thought it was as innocent and "far a part" as the relationship between England and America.** **When** **I finally thought about it: Nope. Sealand is practically England's offspring in the loosest sense of the word.**

**The only ****real thing bothering me at this point is that I only just acknowledged the idea. ._.**** And how long have I been writing this story? **/Oh well. I like them together anyway no matter what hurr/**  
><strong>

**Anyways****, sorry. Do continue.**

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><p>Today is my anniversary from the day I had become independent and I am alone this fine day, sitting on the edge of my nation, the reflection of a blue-grey sky settling right below my bare feet. The sun triggered far in the east, trying to crawl up the canvas of ever-expanding periwinkle and greet me. It was still hiding halfway under a blanket of water.<p>

It had been one of those mornings where I toss myself out of bed while unconscious and let the cold, unforgiving floor awake me. I hate those kinds of mornings. Of course, that isn't what's nagging my brain this fine, cool break of dawn.

For such an important day, I am spending it alone.

It's funny though since I hadn't even thought of inviting anyone here, atop my cosy little nation upon the waves across from my neighbour….

_England._

A placid zephyr whistling up between the pillars down below me swept through and embraced my face, ruffling my deep sandy blonde tresses, knocking off my periwinkle sailor cap which, luckily for me, only landed with a _plop_directly behind me. I thanked the sea for having been so fond of me: her winds peaceful enough not to sweep away my hat from my very head and letting it dive into her watery dress across my entire nation. I'm not too sure if I'd be easy on forgiving her then.

My footsteps were silent as I walked along the metallic rim of my nation, already on my twentieth round-a-bout. My balance had always been fairly good, as told to me by my older brother when I was little.

_Iggy…_

A film reel of nostalgia ringed throughout my head, trapping me within the memories.  
>He always had those stern, forest green eyes. That flaxen hair that never seemed to want to stay tidy no matter how much I tried brushing it down. His pea green, sleeveless jumper he'd always wear when he was around me. His usual scent of herbal tea. His pure English accent that never seized to entice me.<p>

His cheeks, always standing tall and rather proud, though perhaps blushed a little too easily. His small pointed nose that always sort of looked pernickety, especially whenever he'd talk about himself. His ears – though a rare occasion to view until he'd finally trim his hair – always shaped like pears, would also red too easily when his cheeks went.

His crown to his toes and everything in between… And even to his lips always slightly tinged in pink.

_His lips tickled my shoulder as he whispered, his breath hot, trickling across my skin, blurring out my senses._

Heat crept up my cheeks and flared, forcing me off balance. My helpless body plummeted and crashed upon the surface of the water, cutting through, erasing my thoughts. The sea was surprisingly warm somehow. I guess she did love me after-all. I remembered to kiss the sea before I tore through the exterior of blue, expertly swimming my way through to the entrance crane just hanging about the other side of my nation as if it were waiting for me. I don't ever remember swinging it down like that but I was really only thankful that it was present for me now. Interesting how Fate works.

My clothes, left drying in the easy wind, strung across an edge of the helipad and base structure of my nation. For back-up, I wore what appeared as a tunic or some very long white shirt which was given to me by my friend Latvia whose friend Russia had handed down to him. Apparently, he didn't need the spare or some sorry excuse. Bermudas were unnecessary underneath the tunic, so I felt decently comfortable. It wasn't as if I had any visitors anyway. Not even a good friend like Latvia or Canada… Or England.

_O Goddammit, you jerk_. I'm lonely; I admit it.

The nail of my toe dug at the cement floor as if attempting to agitate it; nag it to move or do something; anything to motivate me to get off my arse and call someone; anyone who's available.

Perhaps I should have arsed myself to call my friends far out in advance. It's much too late by now and I am aware it would be awfully rude of me to make a call and put my victim into a tight spot, having to make a hasty decision and arrive late while they make lame excuses as to why. I don't see a good image coming from this scenario.

It seemed my nation had read my thoughts: it miraculously got me off my feet anyway – perhaps bidding to my wishes (or constant nagging) – and I headed into my home, ready to put a phone to ear and call, punching in the first number that came to mind.

It began to ring. Ten times. Loud and obnoxious.

"Hullo," A voice grumbled into the receiving end, the reception crackling gently. "This is England speaking. And may I ask who is the one calling me this early in the blinkin' morning?"

His voice sounded exhausted as if he'd just stumbled out of bed. Oh yeah. He probably did.

"Um..." I could hardly contain my excitement. Of all people I clicked into the number pad, it had to be England. I haven't heard his voice in ages; it's been too long. The Brit patiently waited on the other end. I could hear him breathing gently.

"T-This is…Sea…Sealand. This is Sealand speaking, sir." I stammered with a flushed face. I wonder how he's going to react to my request. Listening intently, I heard England sigh as if he meant it; like these few seconds on the phone could have been spent sleeping instead.

"Oh," He groaned, probably holding his face, "You're the only one who would bother to call me at such an ungodly hour of the day. What is it you want, dear boy?"

Ignoring the 'boy' comment, I continued with my explanation. "Today is my anniversary to when I had become independent. I-I was curious if you were busy at all today, Iggy."

Not entirely the complete truth, but it was convincing.

The Englishman paused a moment, thinking, contemplating. Perhaps I did accidentally put him on pins and needles with my request. I gritted my teeth in anticipation: the other end of the line keeping silent for far too long. _Say something, you jerk._

Grumbling. He was grumbling. A full minute of silence, only to grumble. How dare he. If we were encountering each other face-to-face, man-to-man, I'm sure I would have smacked him. I'm tall enough now, after all.

"You want me to _what_, exactly?" England enquired incredulously, sounding sincere that he had literally made the gaffe of not being able to hear me. A frown invaded my face.

"Iggy, surely you _must_ have heard me—" _You jerk_ "—I simply reques—"

England grumbled again, much like an old man. He certainly didn't act far from it.

"Yes, yes" He cooed groggily, obviously not heartfelt. "I suppose so…"

_To what? _What on earth was he on about? How long had it been exactly since I last saw him? A few years, sure, but not long enough for him to have aged seventy-plus years from our last encounter.

"You suppose what, Iggy?" My tone was an accident. I never meant to sound so impatient. I could even feel England glaring at me through the phone.

"When exactly do you wish for my presence? Will there be any other soul there besides me at all?" England quizzed, tapping an impatient toe that I could hear quite clearly through the phone.

"There..." I paused, calculating, finding nothing. I squeezed the phone in my stubby grip, worried about his next response. "I-I didn't pla...er - Doesn't matter. The thing is; I want you to be here before tea time, at the very least. Please."

His sigh blurred the reception when he heard my stuttering about, choosing a proper response that didn't make me look bad. Clearly, he wasn't convinced.

"Before tea time?" He paused, considering the proposition, humming a little. "Tea time… If you'd have called me at a more appropriate time of invitation, certainly I would be able to rest a little while longer. Tea time is nearly in seven hours. You must know I'm terrible at falling back asleep."

A smile was the only thing I could conjure up in response. The line went silent. For a moment, I thought the man had hung up without saying a goodbye. What a blatant jerk he would have been. But no: his breath could be heard; gently rolling in then smoothly releasing. How close did he have the receiver to his mouth exactly?

"Iggy?" I finally clarified, my eyes searching the floor as if it could give me answers.

"I'm still here, calm yourself." He soothed, remaining grouchy sounding – almost as if he just snapped out of a trance.

"Tea time. Be here and we'll celebrate a bit. Do get yourself back into bed, Iggy. Excuse me for having awoken you."

Without so much as a friendly response, not even a "so long," the line ended and disappointment washed over me. Disappointment in myself. I really ought to plan ahead better.

**…**

I felt pretty good, possibly even a bit proud of myself.

I was really going to see Iggy again, and after such a long time, too. We hadn't encountered each other since…

_A hand leisurely ran through my fair locks, promoting us further together, tilting my head into the perfect position. Gently and hesitantly, the man's fingers raced along what bare skin I had showing, softly coaxing underneath the fabrics. Calloused but compassionate, they slid up, fully joining me beneath the thin white blanket, teasing my flesh and caressing sensitivities._

The kettle I had been escorting up onto the counter almost clanged to the floor. _Damn that fucking Brit! _He's not even here and he's causing me trouble. I quickly recovered the kettle and carefully placed it on the stove top as if it would run away if it found my treatment any less leisurely. I wonder if the jerk hadn't changed his favourite type of tea at all. I only have a limited stash of this and that. Whatever it may be now, he had better like what I have. He always noted that I was the best at brewing. He mustn't have been lying, of course. His tongue is always telling the truth.

Hours had long since passed from the time we had spoken through the phone. In about an hour, I'm sure he'll be here as promised. Although somehow, my stomach turned sour with doubt. But it wasn't as if Iggy always broke promises. I suppose I'm just being a little too nervous. After all, I did call him at a bad time. So then what if he had forgotten? Perhaps he hadn't been awake enough to let the invitation galvanise properly this morning. That means he'll carry on about his day as if our conversation never existed! That's cruel! I shan't have that happen.

If I were to call him up now to clarify his arrival, then perhaps that would be considered rude if he already knew about my little celebration, which would then further the time it takes to arrive here. In that judgement, it's extremely difficult to tell whether I should or shouldn't call. I am being paranoid. I should just wait.

To sooth my nerves, I watched the sea ripple about the horizon below a smooth clear blue sky that turned pale when meeting the water. A small escort boat would be poking through the horizon at any time now. One of my boats, I would like to think. It's been a while: perhaps I had left a boat of mine over at his shore from the last time I had visited. But if that were ages ago, then he must have disposed of it by now or put it up into some museum as another way of getting rid of the responsibility. What a jerk, I say! That was mine! At least I have a small, spare motorboat with me at toe. That way I can travel to him, be the gentleman of the situation and pick _him_ up. What a brilliant plan! Serving him tea after words would only further impress him and eventually he'll say to me "My, Sealand; you have grown so strikingly that I simply had to comment on how brilliant you have become." Or something like that. Anything that makes him appear lower than my head should do as nicely.

The sun was well above my head by now: it had already been a half hour past the designated time span and England hasn't made it yet. Perhaps I really should call him to clarify if he remembered or not. But what I should have done was call several other people. I mean, more the merrier, as they say. I suppose I just got a bit excited when I had first heard Iggy's voice from who knows when. His voice had always been a pleasure to listen to.

My eyes drifted back to the sea once more expectantly. He really ought to be here by now – _er_. Actually, no: he ought to have been here half an hour ago. Was he taking his time? Had he been trying to figure out how to use my boat? But what if my boat wasn't even docked over there? Then what was wrong with his? Or had he decided to fly instead? An aeroplane would hardly be appropriate.

Soon, the colour of the sea would influence my skin which was crawling with goose bumps. Perhaps it would be a better idea if I waited inside. I'm sure I won't be difficult to find when Iggy turns up. Besides, I really ought to change into some proper clothes. Something that even a father would approve of.

Within my home was remarkably warmer. I never regretted keeping the heat on even if I wasn't present indoors. Before I snuggled onto the couch within my vacant but quaint living room, I swept into my room and scavenged through my closet, hoping to find whatever England would consider "smart."

Childhood clothes stuffed into the back, revolting blue and white striped suit complete with a school emblem given to me by England himself. I leafed past it like a displeasing novel until I found a somewhat dusted over shoulder clad with grey-brown suit. It seemed a bit over-sized as I drew it out, but then again, my brother has lent everything in my closet down to me.

After jumping out of the Russian white shirt, I dressed myself into finely woven history, allowing the musky scent to cling to my pale skin. I've never before worn this, even on the day of receiving it. Anyone could guess I had been too stubborn even on that day. Alas, today is this suit's redemption and I will gladly wear it if its appearance compliments me. In fact, I might wear it proudly if I'm feeling generous enough.

Pulling the blazer over my short shoulders, I searched round my room for a full-length mirror as if I had lost a key. I avoided flipping over the entire nation for it, not wanting to trash the place right to perfect disarray at England's arrival. He wouldn't be impressed by then, I'll give it that. Finally, not being able to find anything reflective – not even in the toilet room which gladly went without a mirror – I swallowed my pride and stepped in front of my television as a last resort, having it sit in the corner of the living room. Though the screen curved at the edges, I could still gander at myself. A black and white image of me: I spun round from shoulder to shoulder until I felt pleased. Surely England will be delighted to see this garb on me. I truly cannot wait to see his face.

The sofa beckoned my name. I welcomed it, already adjusting into its awaiting warmth until a knock rapped against my door. It was faint as it echoed throughout the room. Irascibility would have been my primal instinct, but my body defied itself and jumped to action, giving my mind no time to recuperate. My feet swept up the ladder until it reached the door which seemed to be rotting away into rust. I took no mind to it as I briskly opened up the obstruction. Coldness immediately met with my face, forcing me to blink as if it wanted me to flinch just to get a laugh out of it.

"Good afternoon, Sealand." England greeted with a warm smile across his face. Funny: he didn't look any older than what his voice appeared like on the phone. Same dishevelled hair. Same tight and high cheeks. Same over-all fit stature. I suppose growing up isn't his thing.

"Come in, come in, I insist." I said whimsically, stepping back, welcoming his company into my home. I watched him absorb the surrounding warmth, his shoulders already beginning to ease; closing the door behind him as he watched round the secluded area as if he entered foreign ground.

"Any place for my shoes to hide in?" He asked, studying the ground nonchalantly. When was the last time he had ever visited?

"Down these steps here," I pointed toward the well that flooded with light from the living room below. I only smiled knowing my new height compared to him was rather up there. If I could only gain a chance to get closer…

"It's been getting rather chilly where I live recently…." England attempted conversation as he crawled down the steps, noticeably faltering a bit. He hadn't been here in ages, I know that much.

"Oh yeah?" I refrained from pointing out the obvious as I followed him, shepherding him to the shoe park.

As he slipped off his pointed leather dress shoes with ease, I finally gained the opportunity to scan over my guest. His attire was nearly as smart as my own, probably only that much more posh. A suit: a black blazer with a single breast pocket, hugging a white collared shirt. Dark grey trousers generously reached his ankles, making him appear taller than the truth. His ears were red from the cold.

"Please, do make yourself at home, Iggy. I'll be in the kitchen a moment." I patted the man's shoulder gently once I escorted him to the living room where I had set up nicely fitting coasters upon the tea table.

"Oh, and England?" I called out to him from the kitchen as I prepared the kettle full of water, not even making sure that he caught onto my holler. "What tea do you prefer at the moment?"

"Doesn't matter." I hadn't expected that.

"Cream? Sugar?"

"A few."

**…**

It had taken me seemingly ages to serve the tea England had been patiently waiting for. When I made to set the mugs down atop each coaster, a charming smile invaded my lips, pointing it toward my guest. I didn't even feel the need to lift my face like that. England smiled numbly in return, anyway. He seemed decent upon my beige sofa: not too comfortable or too lax. I couldn't do anything except join him.

The sun's reflection on the surface of the water outside beamed through the window of the living room, illuminating everything. It was as if it cut through any awaiting conversation that wanted to strike between the two of us. The tea was patiently cooling. An awkward silence begged to erupt. What made it worse was that I could feel England's eyes. They were looking at me, glancing over every so often. Perhaps he was judging my attire. Surely it had to have been a good review: after all, he was the one who gave it to me. I decided to open my mouth, say a little something; anything to lift the atmosphere.

"You've grown since the last time I saw you, Sealand." England observed, circling a finger over his kneecap, taking my opportunity. My mouth shut and replaced its surprise with a knowing smile.

"That's kind of what you get when you become independent, dear England." I couldn't help being so cheeky. That wasn't a gentleman-like thing to do, especially around superiors. The Englishman simply nodded his head as if accepting the treatment.

"I see you've taken kindly to my wardrobe I loaned down to you," He stated almost absent-mindedly, eyes glued elsewhere almost as if he were avoiding me. Why the sudden change of heart? "It looks good on you."

How charming. I couldn't help but smile, evading my eyes suddenly to the tea still swirling within its cup. England had given those cups to me as well. Silence invaded the room once again. The tea still steaming, waiting to burn a tongue. Perhaps I shouldn't have let it boil for so long. Even I wanted a little distraction.

"So, England..." I began, desperate to break the silence. The Englishman spotted my attempt side-long, swallowing nothing, only to open his mouth

"You must pardon my behaviour this morning," He interrupted, facing me, his hands cupped within each other upon his lap. "As you probably already know, I'm not the shiniest lad in the morning. I take it my atmosphere on the phone wasn't a pleasant one."

I shook my head, lying a little.

"Iggy, no; it's fine. Refrain from apologising. You're here now, aren't you?" I surprised myself on being so unusually polite. Maybe it was the man's very presence that was invading me. Or perhaps I'm just happy to see him.

"I suppose, but that's not exactly what's ailing me…." The man turned away, putting a pondering finger to chin. "I'm not too sure what is at this moment, if I were to be honest."

"Well, think about it later. We have the entire afternoon to chat." I soothed, hovering my hand over the top of my mug, feeling the steam still running hot, but a lot less severe than it had been.

Unfortunately, I had shot down whatever conversation we had been brewing only to welcome back silence. England patiently waited for his tea to cool, keeping his hands to himself and his mind close like a warm blanket on a cold night. He appeared as if he was trying too hard to be nonchalant. I should really say something…

I drew my lips to the rim of my mug instead - dry of any possible conversation - feeling the steam was too hot, but took a sip anyway.

"_Atkch!_" I winced, slamming the tea upon its coaster before I had the chance to spill everywhere.

England giggled.

"Hot?" He ridiculed, smiling. Ever so cheekily. _That bloomin' jerk. Anything for a distraction, huh?_ "That's why you wait."

"I know that." I grumbled at him, leaning back after making sure nothing would collapse upon my return.

"Oh, and Sealand," England began, gaining my attention. I tried desperately not to glare at him. "That reminds me… Of memories, I mean. Of when you were younger."

_Oh no. Where's he off to now? _I watched his pale fingers play around his mug, nervously moving about. His forest green eyes stared at me, though I could tell they were reluctant to do so.

"We had… We'd visit a pub on special occasions. Do you recall?"

I nodded my head. I didn't really want to discuss this much either. An unwelcome heat began to rub at my cheeks. I stared at England's crown.

"Yes… Remember the last time we went?"

_All too fluently, I'm afraid._

I nodded.

"You had your first drink there, didn't you?" I could just feel him smiling faintly at the recollection. _Damn Brit_.

A pause ensued. My thumbnail dug into the pad of my index finger. What on earth was he trying to get at? I refrained from chewing my bottom lip.

"…Would you mind at all if we went over there instead?"

Our eyes finally met. My face succumbed to my flush however determined I was to keep it hidden. England pretended to ignore it. He was waiting.

"B-But-uh...we..." I broke our connection and feasted my eyes onto our mugs. Steam lightly lifted from the surface of the tea.

"We can have tea when we return, Sealand. It's not a set-in-stone deal; tea time, that is." England soothed, sounding far more lax than I wanted him to be.

"T-That…That would a…a waste, sir." _'Sir?' _Even I didn't know what I was saying anymore. My guest smirked at it, though. I wanted to peel my cheeks off. Damn them for telling the truth so obviously.

"Would you rather we wait, then?" _Yes._ But something within me wanted to decline.

"...I suppose it wouldn't hurt." What saint died and possessed me? I really wasn't acting myself. Or was I?

The sound of ceramic against tile raked at my ears. Why did England seem so eager? I felt skin brush upon my hand and immediately glanced up, noticing the man had stood, my eyes accidentally falling into the Englishman's gaze. Still smiling…

"Then shall we go? Grab a coat if you need one." I felt his fingers squeeze my own and I swear my face was radiating in red like the blazing sun. Hesitantly, I rose to my feet, joining alongside him, never again looking back up to meet the man's gaze. This was so painful. Perhaps the bitter cold outside will cool down my flaming cheeks.

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><p><strong>AN: I'll**** admit that this chapter does sound a wee bit ennui, but I assure you that the following chapter will be rather exciting according to your yaoi-filled standards (hopefully).**

**Aside from that, I rather like this chapter: I feel I've captured Sealand's character a bit better. C: Woo.**

**In this chapter, by the way, in case you were ill to notice: Sealand isn't 12 anymore. He's reached independence and has grown, according to World Series.**

**Feedback is delicious and it feeds me: if you don't review, I'll starve and then you'll never get to know what happens next.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Final chapter. Thar be yaoi down below.** **And piss artists. And a Prussian.**

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><p>We were already walking toward the pub, the ocean only a few paces back. I was wrong about my boat floating round England's docks. He had his and I had my own.<p>

My nose was red. My hands were jammed into my pockets, seeking warmth. _You could share Iggy's_… No. I will not have that. He'll just sweat them out and it'll become sticky and disgusting by the time we arrive at the pub. Although the sky is rather jarring up ahead and the winds are only growing brutal round the heads of buildings. No; I refuse.

Walking along the side walk, passing by others in a blur, we were almost there: I could already smell it.

As we walked, England strayed close to me like the protective older brother he was. He towered over me, shielding me from blank-faced pedestrians. _Dammit: I'm still shorter than he is._ He almost smelled of my living room…

When we escaped the cumbersome side walks, we found ourselves facing the pub we'd been looking for. It hadn't changed since the last time I was here.  
>Suddenly, I felt myself drag along by something. It irked me until I realized how stagnant I had been perched, gazing at the building as if it had been talking to me.<p>

"Come on, it's freezing." England dragged me inside, the sudden warmth resurfacing nostalgia. My mind was in a daze as the Englishman escorted me toward a vacant stall. Weird: England always loved sitting at the bar. He could order drinks faster that way. Did he have something on his mind?

On either side, we slipped into the booth, its burgundy-stained leather running lukewarm.

"Sealand," England addressed pointedly. It was almost surprising how quick he was at settling in and getting down to business. I glanced in his direction, already feeling my cheeks defrosting me. He waited a moment before continuing.

"You were...fifteen - was it? - the last time we were here together." His hand was already playing with a pepper container. Who used those in a pub, anyway?

I nodded, hunching my shoulders involuntarily to keep warm, despite the heaters blasting across the room. This place was a little too loud for my taste…

"You've grown plenty now. I think you deserve a drink in commemoration to your anniversary." Immediately afterwards, he waved down a waiter despite my silent disapproval if I had any, an unusual smile clinging to his lips. What was he up to?

A rather pale and towering white-haired gentleman approached our table, not even pretending to look optimistic. He kept his eyes to himself and his hand clenched round a pen and pad in case he'd forget anything.

"Is there anything I can help you two gentlemen with this afternoon?" He queried, his voice as jaded as his countenance.

"It's this lad's anniversary on becoming an adult. A good drink or two of beer for the both of us will do nicely to begin with." England announced wholeheartedly, talking for me. Though I'm older, he's still doing it. My brow twitched in slight irritation. The waiter noticed, giving me a questionable look. His stare mimicked the colour of my flushing cheeks. But they were so cold. I felt a little uneasy within my seat as those eyes kept staring, even while his hand worked away at pinning down our order. It wasn't that difficult to remember. He should be gone by now if it weren't for that pad!

Only when the man walked off was when relief washed over me. I couldn't help but glance over at England, not wanting to meet his eyes in case he'd noticed that minuscule encounter. He never looked up.

**…**

The pale man returned, soundlessly placing our order onto the table. He didn't mind the spills of foam that he made.

"A round of beer; one for the Englishman—" The waiter announced monotonously, sliding one over-filling mug to England, "And one for the—" He paused a moment, giving me a half-lidded look. A corner of his lip curled, enchanted. "—'_adult_.'"

I was tempted to bite him when the waiter slid my mug my way. Politeness impeded me and I could only glare at him. The waiter simply flared a devilish smiling row of teeth before departing; reminding the 'Englishman' that he could be waved down whenever we were ready for another round.

"Well," England began with that irksome smile fluttering over his mouth, lifting his mug by the glass handle. "Cheers to manhood."

"Cheers." I mumbled loudly, picking up my glass and striking our rims together, immediately downing it. When the beverage hit my tongue, however, I wanted to recoil. A grimace almost struck my face until I caught it, stopping myself. I didn't want to appear weak. I swallowed the rest. My throat was burning.

"Your first full beer: congratulations, Sealand." England commented tastefully behind his mug, a single eyebrow lifted in amusement. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"Shuddup," I lightly snapped, half playfully, half serious. "I'm ready for another."

Like demonstrated, I shot my arm above my head, scanning through the ocean of heads for the only one in white. When I finally flagged down my target, his crimson eyes could only seem to hold England's. _What the…? _Without a word, our waiter collected our empty glasses, shortly abandoning us for the bar.

**…**

Our fourth round already. The clanging of our mugs only grew louder like our constant laughter. Our faces were tinged in pink with heads dazed out of thoughts. We were pissed already. Too soon, perhaps.

Every visit the waiter made, holding more rounds for us, his smiles could only grow deeper. It wasn't out of genuine happiness, however. Another round, each and ever more, he bent down a little more than necessary. He was strange. He was close. Always closer. Every time.

His crimson eyes, perfectly rotund, piercing and dark. Always glancing. Always watching. He was particular. He stood out. So nonchalant. Like England.

His image, worked to perfection to his own tastes crashed, immediately taking the scowl of a bull and directing it elsewhere. Who? I followed the stare. England. His mug was missing. Where…?

"Oh dear lord, tha' one slipped r-oight out of meh finga's!" The Englishman exclaimed in dismay, leaning deeply into the table as if to fall asleep at any moment.

"It's fine, it's fine; I'll clean it up." The waiter grumbled between gritted teeth, obviously peeved. The colour of beer painted his uniform. He stormed back to the bar. I couldn't help laughter bubbling within me. England joined me. Upon the pale man's return, his aura could only turn vile and cynical as he knelt down, cleaning Iggy's foolish mess. I couldn't constrain myself of muddling his short white hair as if he were a kid.

**…**

Sixth round. I couldn't see properly.

"H-Hey! S-S-Sea_laaaand_," I glanced over to a head of frilly blonde hair, squishing my lips together. "Y…Y-You're beaut-tuf-ful, mah dear-r lad."

I blinked slowly, as if nothing he said computed. He looked funny, bowing over the table like he did.

"Whut I mean is…." The Englishman paused, contemplating, picking at his face. "Y-You're not like...Uhh...What's-his-face. Yah know who I mean."

"Wha's his face look like?" I asked with a drawl, dragging the back of my palm across the corner of my lip, catching the spot of drool that escaped between my lips.

"Oi," The piss artist scolded playfully "Use prop-ar grammar, you nob. Anyway, What's-his-face….his face is… a face - No. It has feat..features. Like…well-built, stupid feat-tures. They're stupid. I hate them. But you, Sealand...You don't hauf those stupid features. You're brilliant. Here, scoot over."

"No, get away from me." I mumbled as England nudged his hips at me, demanding me to scoot over within the bench. I refused to move. When did Iggy stand up, anyway?

"Come on, then; I look awkwed standin' up like this. Scooch you're petite little arse over. Come on." He forced his palms into my shoulders until I collapsed sideways, my hands too slow to pick me up in time. I scrambled for the wall-side of the bench in childish frustration, cheeks as red as apples.

"It starts wiff an 'A'…" England scrutinised with a silly contemplative face, sitting straight and polite, tapping a finger against the table. "Not his hair, though: his hair starts wiff a 'B' and it's blonde, I'm sure."

"Get away from me, you bloody…you bloody...whoever you are." I spat, almost quite literally as I crawled to sit up, clinging to the table and top of the seat as if they were my lifeline. England gave me look I would have punched in if I were sober: smiling crookedly with those relaxed eyes, silently ridiculing me. When did he get so close, anyway? Wasn't he across the table only moments ago?

"Calm yourself, Sealand, y-you're…you're fine." England cooed, arching his bushy eyebrows high as if he were observing some fine piece of artwork. He wasn't staring at anything interesting. "You're better than 'im, that...that man…that man whose name begins with an 'A.' You know who I mean, don't you?"

I shook my head as if expecting a funny.

"Amber - No. His name is… You know, I can't seem to remember for the life of me, Sealand."

That wasn't funny.

"Y-You mean...uh...He lives far west from here, don't he?" I queried as if I were genuinely curious.

"Yeah, yeah...You know who I mean: you're not like 'im in the slightest. He was a berk and you're not."

"Quit trying to flatter me, you git." I playfully nudged him with the heel of my boot. He punched me in the knee lightly, as if we were simply two really great friends hanging about a pub.

"I'm serious. If I were to - say..._die_ - I wouldn't trust my stuff to him. I'd give et all to you."

"You're making a fool of yourself." And yet I couldn't help but believe him.

"But there's an underlining difference between you two that isn't quite as obvious: your mannerisms… They're funny."

"Whut?" I asked incredulously, scowling my face, immediately drained of respect.

"You're funny; not quite mature. You're getting somewhere, but you're not quite the adult you wish yourself tah be."

"You're babblin'."

"I wish. But no: I can't hide the truuf. You really are rather stuck in the realm of being...childish, if that's the prop-ar word."

I took a long sip from my mug before I realized what Iggy said. I slammed it on the table and pierced my sloppy glare his way.

"_Childish_?" I yelled. England didn't even blink. "I'm an adult! You said tha' yourself! I'm mature!"

"No, no, you d-" _- Belch -_ "don't understand, Sealand," He pressed a finger to my lips, his eyes still half-lidded and teasing. It wasn't calming in the slightest. I was tempted to tear his finger clean off his hand. "Tha's a good thing."

"Just git off me, jerk!" I shoved his hand away and tried to make my escape. England's fat arse was blocking the only exit. Daring, I climbed over the table, hearing the prickly sound of glass shattering to the floor as I found myself tangled in arms, my rump crashing onto cushion. No, it wasn't that…

"No need to run, Little Britain," England hummed delightfully, squeezing my sides. I clawed my fingers into his knot of arms; wanting them to bleed. It wasn't before I realized the man was breathing down my neck that I noticed he planted my bum onto his lap, my legs dangling over the top of the table. What a bastard.

"R-Release me, you bugg-ar! I'm not a child!" I wriggled, outstretching my arms until I snapped free. I scrambled to my feet and didn't look back, hurdling toward the exit, ignoring England's hollers after me.

**…**

"Wait, Sealand; it wasn't me! I-I mean… er - I didn't mean it like that!" His voice, beaten down by the roar of rain, hardly grew louder as the Englishman hurried after my footsteps. I didn't care if my ill-prepared clothing absorbed every dagger of water; I just wanted to be as far away from that jerk as possible. But I felt lost. Rain obscured my already horrendous vision. I continued forward despite, listening for the slosh of England's disordered steps. I couldn't hear anything except the buckets of rain showering over me, surrounding me, engulfing me.

A thick grey fog masked the area. Where the hell was I going? There were oceans in my shoes. The blinding traffic within the streets weren't helping my vision at all. They covered my eyes like a blindfold, spinning me and waiting for me to drop. I hear the biggest splash of my life. Or is my hearing impaired? Did I just hear my name…?

_Sealand!_

When did my clothes feel so heavy? I don't recall ever changing them… My ears filled with the annoying sound of British laughter.

"_Sealand? Are you all right?_"

His hands caressed my body.

_Everything turned sour as I felt my legs jerk apart. As if the air had knocked right out of me, I snapped my attention to the Brit whom lifted his hands away from my knees, about to take them somewhere I do not think I want them to go._

Already I grew hard.

"You took a mighty spill there, Sealand. Can you hear me?"

In glazed eyes, spilling with tears that weren't my own, the only thing I could was England's half-worried expression surrounded in a blur of rain. I blinked twice, hazily before I realised England was cradling me like a bloody infant.

"I'm fine: where's my home? I want to go home." I blurted urgently, pushing the man's arms away. Still feeling the strong effect of beer, I rolled right off his grasp and fell once again into water. When did we arrive at a lake?

"I think it would be best if you came to my home…" England suggested between small slips of laughter, grabbing at me again.

"I'm an adult: I can do it on my own. Just…J-Just get me a car-r…" I forced my palm at his chest as England helped me to my feet. He was just being a jerk again. I really hated him.

_SPLASH_

I'm pretty sure that that one wasn't me falling down this time.

"Oi, you fucking prat! Get yourself back here!" England shrieked in drunken slurs. He was shaking his two-finger salute at a car speeding away, running a red light. A man with pale hair stuck his head out the passenger window and shook his own derogatory hand gestures before tucking himself back into the safety of his car.

"Iggy, I want to go home…" I moaned, not even minding just how frost-bitten I felt as my numbed fingers childishly tugged at the man's sodden blazer. I continued walking despite, not sure where I was headed.

"You know, I was a pirate in my day!" England complained hotly, chasing after me. "That guy – Our waiter, was it? – He should know to respect me, the blighter! I'll show him what fore!"

_Does this man ever shut up?_

I slipped my soaked-to-the-bone hand into his clammy one and immediately his voice cut short. I can't even remember what I was so cross at before. I simply let out a dry chuckle.

**…**

We left ponds in Iggy's corridor as we shed off our shoes. His home was so delightfully warm as soon as the Englishman shut the door. When he turned to me, he began unbuttoning my waterlogged blazer. I protested with limp, uncoordinated pushes.

"Oi, don't: I can do et…" I bemoaned, trying to step away. But the man was determined.

"I'm your supariohr," The Brit explained emphatically, gazing too closely to his handy work "I have the authoritay. Stand still." And I did, but with a pout on my face. The man noticed, smirking under his eyelashes. "You really are too cute, Sealand."

He slipped his fingers underneath my collar above my chest, sliding down smoothly, running his hands along the length of my lank arms until the blazer finally plopped to the floor, joining the ocean at our feet. I blinked slowly, staring out of focus at the blur of England's neck which seemed closer than what I can recall.

"O; your shirt's soaked, too… You'll catch a cold. Allow me." The Brit mumbled monotonously, staring intently at the buttons he fixated into undoing. What was going through his head? I picked up my stubborn attitude from before, pushing his hands away.

"I said I can do it myself, jerk." I almost tripped as I backed away, fumbling over the silver buttons aligned down my white shirt as I faced opposite of England. I gave up immediately, not seeing myself finishing the job; moving onto my tie which ended up trapping my fingers. _Blast it all!_

Only when I noticed my heart stop, I finally realised the aiding hands curving round my chest, continuing the project I couldn't seem to finish. His torso pressed against my back. I'm not his crutch! I anxiously wriggled beneath him. He shushed into my reddening ear.

"Calm down, Sealand. I'm only helping." I couldn't believe him. But he undid my tie, anyway, continuing down to my shirt for round two. For a piss artist, he was fairly dexterous in his movements. I still don't like him, though.

Iggy pushed up against me harder, allowing no space to fall between us. His freezing fingers snaked through his succession and immediately I jumped at the nip. I scrambled away from my confinement.

"You're fingers are bloody icicles, you wank-ar!" I yelled defensively, clutching my collar together as if I'd been violated. Oh yeah: perhaps I was. England looked at me as if I were crazy. I'm not blinking crazy!

"'Tisn't my fault the weather is below freezing…" England stated solemnly, blinking off to the side as if nothing was wrong. Something twitched within me, bent into complete frustration and concupiscence.

"I...I'm goin'...going to change upstairs..." I drabbled decisively, resentful, turning round and sweeping up the steps. The irksome feeling of déjà vu resonated through my flesh as I made it to the top of the flight. Wait a second…

"Iggy, I'm borrowing your clothes." I called over my shoulder without hesitation, perhaps a bit too hasty in my decision-making. I didn't care. I stepped up to his room without bothering to listen for a response from the old prat. Upon entering England's room, I immediately noticed just how similar it was in comparison to my last visit. Nothing really different, part from a few disarrays of this and that.

Ignoring it, with my target in place, I approached the man's chest of drawers, peeking into every compartment, leafing through every article. Although I believe I might be the same size as the old man now, perhaps these clothes were a tad too…big. That's dreadful.

Finally, after scavenging through his older attire, I found something that might be considered small according to England's size preference. Slightly satisfied, I escorted the uniform to the man's bed, placing the folded item upon his pool of Byzantium-velvet sheets. I almost got lost in them when I found myself staring numbly. I blinked my attention away, my hands already working to strip me of damp clothes.

"Oh and S-Sealand," England addressed, a little too booming as he rushed his steps upon his entrance, "I would prefer it if you would store your wet clothes into the toilet room."

When did he arrive up here? I never heard him…

I turned to glance over to the man, a little astonished upon acknowledging his presence. My hands rest above my trouser button surrounded in a curtain of white shirt still neatly tucked away underneath trouser hem. I nodded slowly when I finally acknowledged his words, returning my eyes to my hips, my clothes…

He wouldn't leave. His eyes couldn't pry away from me. I could feel them. I look ridiculous to him, I bet. My physique isn't that horrendous. I lowered my head in embarrassment, turning slightly, almost tripping over my own feet, facing the bed as my fingers worked the button keeping my trousers in place.

"You look awfully pale, Sealand," England observed casually. I could hear him creeping closer. My toes crawled toward the bed, wholly nervous. Have I gone mental? "Look at me."

I obeyed automatically, blinking slowly, staring over into forest green eyes. My nerves spiked when the man's finger snaked across my bare shoulders, trying to ease my worry. I was the least bit relaxed.

He giggled under his breath, examining my face as if I was some comic in a newspaper article.

"The weather is a rather quick one: you're all red faced. Do you feel well?"

I didn't bother answering. My fingers were busy playing with the button on my trousers. They were too soaked and uncomfortable as they stretched round the shape of my legs. Then they fell to my bare ankles. I immediately burned with blaring eyes.

"England, what the bloody—!" In my surprise, something sharp grazed past my naked lower back, scraping the skin. My mouth let out a hiss of pain as velvet smoothed round me, welcoming me, coaxing me. Something plopped to the carpeted floor, another puffed heavily.

"I want you to be as comfortable as possible," England soothed, his hands still traveling the expanse of my shoulders and chest. "Wouldn't want it to get worse. Here, let me…"

Nothing was computing. What was happening exactly?

His forehead collided against mine. A slip of agony almost slithered past my lips until I held it in, not wanting to appear weak. I wasn't weak. My temples were pounding. My skin was on fire. His hands explored me as if I was some sort of treasure. The bridge of his thin pointed nose rubbed up against mine, and only then did the thought occur to me that our proximity had too small of a measurement. My fingers grasped handfuls of velvet, trying to dry off my sweating palms. Heat concentrated itself where hands shouldn't go.

"Remember when you were younger, Sealand?" the man fondly inquired, his breath hot as it embraced my damp lips. I whispered a small agreement, fluttering my disoriented eyes shut. Almost shut. What did he just say?

"Your birffday a few years back," He paused a moment, his poignant alcoholic stench pervading through my nostrils. I didn't mind; I was guilty of it, too. "We…I did something, and to censor every detail of the memory… Do you recall our confessions at all?"

My nose twitched underneath his in a contemplative thought, hazy as it was until something had to click.

_"I love you, too"_

It was almost instinct to nuzzle into the Englishman's face. I whispered another agreement.

"I said I wouldn't go all the way, if memory serves me correctly." I hummed, approving, pecking his cheekbone. What cupid possessed me exactly? But I felt so unnaturally calm…

"And upon previous quotation, you've reached that proper age… But…" He allowed his hands to ghost down my pale chest, sending further curious heat between my legs. "I must query for your preference."

I brought my arm round his nape, despite its anxious shivering, and pulled the Brit in, securing my decision.

"I remember everyffin'," I soothed in an uneven voice, feeling the very tips of the Englishman's lips against my own. "And I wouldn't mind it at all."

We touched; slid harmoniously, embraced hotly, wet each other's mouths. His tongue ran over mine in amusement as if he didn't need permission. He tenderly squeezed it between his teeth, sending his pliable, reddening lips over mine, still softly playing with my pink tongue.

He kept his hands entertained with their fashionable movements glancing over my flesh, my buds, tender soft-spots that made me giggle underneath his mouth who smiled knowingly in return. He slid further down, heating up my exposed skin. My body couldn't keep secrets when his palm slithered affectionately over my horrendously obvious arousal which hid thinly underneath tight undergarments still slightly damp from rain-struck trousers. My breath hitched wonderfully along with a hiccup. I returned his attention to me with a glance of our lips, running a tongue over his bottom. He tasted so bitter.

Breathing grew deeper and hotter. His hand rolled over me with magnificent skill, playing his fingers along me in mock-innocent delight.

"-You sure?" He murmured gruffly against my mouth. I ran my free hand over his waist, tucking two fingers underneath his sodden trousers yearningly.

"You'll get your bed soggy…" I murmured as-a-matter-of-fact in return, fully slipping my fingers down until they couldn't continue. This wait was becoming painful. My arm unravelled from England's nape, breaking our embrace, fixating my fingers to his leather belt. Like my tie, I ended up with trapped fingers until the damn Brit saved them with a single hand. With a slight huff of disgruntlement, I slipped the rest of him down, until he finished with his trousers meeting the floor. Upon his return, he ghosted his thin fingers across my abdomen, lower, across my arousal, pulling the undergarments down with him until they reached my knees, my ankles, to the floor.

England planted himself between my pale legs, bringing them up, forcing them to straddle his waist which I willingly squeezed, eliciting a pleased smile across his face.

"You're not used to this, are you?" He clarified softly, the tips of his fingers tickling across my thigh. He wasn't seeking an answer. "I'll be gentle."

His fingers smoothed past my hips in a fanciful motion, between my legs, underneath me, rubbing my entrance. I bit my bottom lip. This anticipation was far too great. I didn't have the heart to tell him to speed up the pace. My face was red beyond recognition. One slipped inside. I couldn't help but cringe.

Two, after minutes passed of probing. He claimed absent-mindedly that I was rather tight. My face could boil off any minute now.

Three. It was honestly painful. But there was an undying urge within me that didn't care. Nothing could beat the prickle of my craving arousal. I could explode.

"I'll be gentle…" He repeated soothingly, his mouth meeting my ear, his fingers abandoning me. "Just move your hips up."

As soon as I obeyed, he delved in without much hesitation, slowly digging himself in, then gradually out, adjusting to the motion. A heavy moan slipped out of my throat, shaking weakly until I caught it, forcing it to quit. His teeth sunk into my ear, pulling himself closer. I breathed hotly over his exposed neck, aware of its alcoholic trail. I didn't care.

Adjusting still, the Brit hastened his fluent movements, sending an orchestra of moans between us both. I didn't want to moan: I tunnelled the frustration into blowing a sigh against his sodden blonde tresses. He didn't deserve my vocals.

To occupy my hands, I cupped his face, encouraging it over for another kiss. England gladly complied, thrusting his tongue between my teeth. The sudden open mouth contact flushed out another deep throated moan. He bit my lip for me, still gradual in all of his movements. Why was I ever cross at him to begin with?

He was picking up his motions. Our moans were poignant as they filled the room, stirring round; uniform with the Brit's every thrust. Everything was undeniably excruciating. But I can't say I hated it. My reflection could only work with thick grunts behind clenched teeth that had the urge to shatter from the pressure. My fingernails dug into the Englishman's jaw, forcing him to groan and bite into my top lip, pushing his entire length within me as punishment. I let out a robust whimper as he smirked devilishly in delight. Oh yeah: perhaps that's why I hate him.

Every time, full length, more pain. He was enjoying himself too much, the jerk. I'm not some toy…

Pressure built itself between my hips. Heat complimented everything. My eyes screwed shut as my body began calming down, adjusting, accepting. England's hands met with my stiff pink buds, circling them, pinching them, arousing them. My hands parted from his red-marked jaw, limp in its landing upon the sheets. The space between my fingers quickly filled with England's own, clenching them passionately as if either of us would die if one of us released. I was about ready to burst.

Creaking wood, a choir of moans between grunts, spots of water trickling down our faces. Drool escaping between my lips, my breath fast and in rhythm to England's hips. He clenched my hands almost desperately, raining kisses down my neck between each beat. Along with a delirious mind-frame, my arousal finally bent into pleasure. He was smooth, raising inclinations higher, keeping his hot mouth uniform to every beat. Heat condensed between my hips. I needed to be touched. I involuntarily lurched forward, spiking a whimper within my throat. His hands tightened over mine, pounding them into the sheets, his teeth gently grazing over my skin.

England's pace suddenly dithered, slowing down into romantic pumps. I cried out pleasured whines harmoniously with the man's new rhythm. My thick brows arched downward, matching my weak voice; I felt so weak. He pressed his mouth against my own, resonating in a song without lyrics. As soon as he detached, his throat let out a long desired hum of pleasure, his fingers choking mine. He immediately pushed himself rougher, swiftly on each return, his skin slapping against my own. I released another wail of carnality, slipping out broken chants of an inaudible word, only allowing one proper drag of eager saliva running down my chin. I couldn't help it. All my senses blurred delightfully.

A ready pang resonated within me, heated up, wanting to burst. I didn't know what to do.

As if he could hear my unyielding thoughts, England slid himself in me with alacrity. My eyes pinched shut, as tight as they could squeeze. Our senses lifted high, reaching our peak. Our breaths both hitched taut, our hearts almost losing their beat. One more pang. One more second of pure delight.

Finally, we burst close to each other's own, feeling the gentle punch of our discharge until England slipped himself out of me. Finishing himself, allowing his hand to aid him, spilling over my abdomen, mixing with my own.

He collapsed exhausted, mouth glancing over my ear, his breath hot and unstable. He uttered something soundless, putting too much effort into himself. I ran my free hand into his damp flaxen hair and gently pushed his warm ear against my flaming cheek, sighing out contentedly.

"I love you."

Beer still cursed our veins. England didn't respond. I tangled my legs with his, pulling us further together. My chest heaved, running along with his. We were knackered. We were at peace. I relaxed beneath his every toned curve, feeling him ease mutually. He laid one last kiss to my neck and breathed into my ear without another word. His feelings reciprocated my own. He didn't even need to utter a single word.

We were drunk.

No regrets.

No looming guilt.

Just pure harmony.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well I hope this story was worth the trifle-through. Worked decently hard on it and I rather enjoy the outcome.**

**But I'd love to hear your thoughts about this story. C: I'm a little sheepish about the subject you just read and I want to know if it's actually passable. -_-**


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